Lent 2026 · Day 33: You Can’t Force Love...What Do You Mean, Vangie!?

“God always offers us a second chance in life.” — Paulo Coelho

A while back, I was on the phone with my friend Kimi, and she said something that made me laugh.

Kimi: Yeah, it’s funny. I either really liked your exes or I couldn’t stand them.

Me: That tracks.

Kimi: Remember that one we had lunch with at Santana Row? The one from the East Coast? I liked her.

Me: Melissa?

Kimi: Yeah, that’s her.

Me: She was a pathological liar.

Kimi: Oh. Well, I remember she was really nice.

Me: Sure. Nice. Still lied about everything, though.

Kimi: Yeah, too bad. I liked her.

Me: Yeah… she was really hot.

And sometimes that’s exactly how it goes. Someone seems perfect, at least on the surface, and you ignore the tiny red flags flapping in the wind like a pride parade for bad decisions. The heart wants what the heart wants, and sometimes it wants a disaster… disguised as a hot lesbian.

It’s been over six years since that season of my life when everything basically imploded. But I found an old journal entry from about two years after my breakup with R, and reading it now was a mind trip.

Because I could hear myself in it.

Still angry.

Still hurt.

Still trying to make sense of something that didn’t make sense.

It was the year after COVID. I was living alone, golfing a lot, trying to figure out what a new normal even was. I had just started working again after months of navel-gazing and climbing out of my own trough of despair. Everything about that time felt disorienting.

And I remember thinking I was doing better. I thought I was ready to date again. I met someone. I liked her. I thought maybe this was it. And then, after a month, she told me she wanted to go our separate ways because she needed to “work on her gains.” Whatever that meant. That's not what I wanted (and what I want typically doesn't matter).

What exactly was I supposed to do?

Argue?

Beg?

Try to convince her to stay?

No. Absolutely not.

That’s insane. And a little desperate.

I’m not going to force someone to want to be with me who doesn’t want to be with me. I won't stay where I'm not wanted. And I don’t care what K-dramas are trying to sell us. Persistence is not romantic when the other person has already said no.

Wearing someone down until they finally choose you is not love.

It’s pressure.

It’s manipulation.

It’s wrong.

And I’ve never wanted to be chosen like that.

Reading that journal entry now, I realized something. That was one of the first times I really stood in that boundary. Not perfectly. Not peacefully. But clearly.

You do not get to choose me because I convinced you.

You either want to be here or you don’t.

Back then, I was still tangled up in my past relationship. I missed her. Then I didn’t. Then I did again. I remembered the good parts. Then I remembered the chaos. The hurt.

And if I’m being honest, what I felt the most was anger.

A lot of it.

I wrote things like “I really hate her” and meant it at the time. And I’m not going to pretend I didn’t feel that way. I did.

Because anger is easier than grief.

It’s easier than admitting you abandoned yourself for another person. That you trusted someone. That you built something with them. That it meant more to you than it did to them. That some part of you still wanted the story to end differently.

But here’s what I see now that I couldn’t see then. I didn’t actually want her back.

I wanted the version of myself that existed when I thought I was loved.

I wanted the certainty.

The belonging.

The feeling of being chosen.

And when that was taken away, I tried to control whatever I could.

My narrative.

My emotions.

My anger.

I used to say, “I don’t care if they’re happy. I don’t even wish them well. I just don’t want to be miserable anymore.”

And honestly?

That part still stands.

But it means something different now. It’s not about comparison anymore. It’s about peace. And I don’t believe in closure the way people talk about it. Closure isn’t something someone gives you. It’s just another way we try to hold onto hope that the story could’ve ended differently.

It didn’t. And I don’t need to keep going back to try to rewrite it. It is what it is.

But I needed to understand myself, who I was at that time, and why I wanted so badly to make something work that was never going to. Not because I wasn’t trying. But because we never made sense to begin with.

And what I’ve learned, slowly, painfully, and more than once, is this...

You cannot force love.

You cannot negotiate it.

You cannot earn it by being better, calmer, easier, or more patient.

And you should not have to. If someone wants to be with you, they will be. If they don’t, no amount of effort on your part is going to change that.

And that’s not rejection.

That’s clarity.

I’ve ignored that little voice in my head more times than I’d like to admit. The one that says, “This probably isn’t a good idea.” And me, historically, have said, “Shhh… let’s just see what happens.”

And what happens is usually nonsense.

But maybe that’s what second chances actually are.

Not another chance with the same person.

Not a chance to rewrite the past.

Not a chance to prove you were lovable all along.

Maybe it’s a second chance to listen to yourself.

To trust your gut.

To choose differently next time.

To stop mistaking chemistry for safety, or hope for compatibility.

I didn’t know who I was becoming back then. I said things like, “I’m living my life by my own rules… whatever that means.”

And honestly, I still feel that way sometimes.

But now there’s a little more grounding in it.

A little more trust.

A little less urgency to figure everything out all at once.

I don’t hate them anymore. I don’t carry it the same way. But I also don’t need to rewrite the past to make it prettier than it was.

It was what it was.

It was ugly.

It was messy.

It had moments of beauty and real love.

I don’t discount the good parts. But I also don’t romanticize it into something it wasn’t. And it taught me something I needed to learn.

You can’t force love.

And you have to learn to love yourself first.

Lenten Reflection: Second Chances and Inner Knowing

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” — Proverbs 3:5–6 (NRSV)

Lent is a season of deep listening.

Not just to God.

Not just to the world around us.

But to that still, small voice inside us that keeps trying to tell the truth.

The one we override.

The one we bargain with.

The one we hope is wrong because we want what we want.

Today, sit with this:

🔹 Where have I ignored my inner voice in favor of fantasy, fear, or loneliness?

🔹 What old heartbreak am I still trying to negotiate with instead of accept?

🔹 What would it look like to trust myself enough to choose differently?

Maybe grace looks like a second chance.

Not to go back.

But to move forward wiser.

Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other. 🩷

#lentreflection2026 #DatingDisastersAndDivineLessons #SaturnReturnsAndSecondChances